Once a Beast Always a Beast
by FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Dragons are reviving; sniffing out the blood, the soul and the uncertainty. The Dragonborn is not carved for greatness, merely flung into upheaval. Help along the way is what she needs, and Farkas has always been her loyal companion. Rated M.
1. Tome of Trolls

This story is thanks to the flu. If I've been in bed I've been typing under the influence of beer and cold medicine, if I've been up (well not really up) then I've been playing Skyrim...also under the influence of cold medicine and alcohol.

Fell in love with The Companions. They are all amazing, especially Farkas and Vilkas (though it's really hard to choose). Started writing this a bit, have most of it fleshed out but will tweak it depending on how everyone likes it.

So here's to me stepping outside of my Fallout/Dragon Age element finally. Hoorah!

As with everything I write there will be blood, language, and sex. The game is M so this is M.

Disclaimer: don't own Skyrim...

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><p>No matter how consistent her gaze met with the flickering fire it remained just as unknowing of her intentions – it didn't shy away or burn further with interest, just continued its fast dance and simmering crackle of firewood like always.<p>

Her mouth set tight. In a way the fire was just like Farkas. The stones fortifying the flames was like Farkas. The burning cherry wood, the wearing steel soles on her boots and the metal rash under her gauntlets. They were all just as...uhghh...as Farkas.

She turned a bothered eye to said Nord sitting down beside her on the toppled pine log; fire highlighting his pronounced features with a dim stain of orange. He looked the same as ever, staring blandly into the fire with forearms resting on his spread thighs. Ever since they'd had to survive the southern Windhelm mountains he'd become much less talkative...much more distant.

Aside from a few sparse comments here and there, he remained to himself, almost like he was home-sick. She'd catch him staring up at the sky when it was particularly windy, only muttering comments under his breath when she stared too hard. The noisy gusts seemed to be about all he paid attention to when they weren't fending off wild animals or bandits.

Her gaze narrowed as he stared ahead.

Even if it was a racist assumption, she'd assumed he – a Nordic man – wouldn't have minded holding a naked elf against his equally naked skin to overcome the frost. In fact, she'd imagined him taking advantage of her – or about as much as someone could take advantage of her...

Her initial explanation was that he was a man discouraged by the same sex. For her race it wasn't uncommon, but she hadn't expected it of a Nord honestly. Though that assumption also proved wrong the next time they'd reached a small milling town; bent on lying down for a night in a warm bed.

It'd taken a full cycle to forget the noises he'd gotten out of a Mill worker's daughter. The grunts, loud mewls, and filthy speech that made her – a Dunmer – blush still made her gut warm even now if she thought long about it.

After that she'd avoided anything with a granary...

The fire cracked and sprouted up under the cooking pot, causing it's stewing contents to bubble over for a brief second; spilling and steaming on the coals under it. The sight of it wasn't great, but the salty smell of overcooked carrots and rabbit made her mouth water.

With a tired and famished breath she looked over at him, watching his nose wrinkle and a short cough take over him.

The sprinkle of old leaves falling behind him caught her eyes for a second before she returned to the state of his bored expression. Even in the dark her sight couldn't keep a dedication direction, everything about this place made her bristle with awarness.

She knew he could see her head turned to him. His sigh wasn't that bad, and yet he paid her no mind. Farkas never complained or questioned her requests, and he certainly didn't show any abhorrence if she cut down a seemingly innocent traveler...or two. No, Farkas had little to say to her one way or the other anymore and honestly? - she missed the gleeful bonding they'd had at every heart pounding risk they'd taken. Of all the places they both cleared and relished in, and now he was even less open than when she'd first met him...at least then he had teased her in his own way.

Helping him, fighting beside him after they chatted with smirks about everything from the perfect steel to the sweetest pastry was a moment she missed.

Now? Now they barely spoke. Unless she was throwing off commands or asking him to sit tight while she scouted on ahead, he was just as distant as the rocks and the flicking fire. Even when he took a sword to the stomach a dozen moons ago – the blade bashing hard into his guarded stomach – he didn't say anything to her, just shook it off and picked himself back up.

Abruptly she smacked the cooking pot with the butt of her axe – the kissing flames burst into small sparks until the pot ceased it's disturbed swinging. That caught his attention. Farkas stared at her a brief moment, one eye brow raised before going back to watching the glowing embers like they were a Bard's one woman dance, and it infuriated her to no end.

They ate dinner just as silently and with a bitter sneer she muttered that he had first watch.

He nodded – the fire casting inside his eyes, making them shine like she'd seen them the night of her own changing. Those dark war painted pits where his eyes rested only made the whole sight that much more intense, but she remained just as outwardly bothered despite any golden recollection. No one could hold an unnecessary grudge like a Dunmer, and despite the rational Nord influence her time in these lands had nourished, she pushed into her bed furs with a frown.

In morning perhaps she'd let him fetch back to Jorrvaskr indefinitely, even Meeko had been more conversation than the Nord at this point...and he was truly a dog.

In the land of nod she found nothing but Daedric lords bathing in fire salts and water nymphs seducing frost spiders. Her dreams had never been sensible, nor amusing to callback the next morn, but when her sedated mind was shook awake in the midst of serving sweet rolls to Sheogorath, the first thing out of her mouth was, "...I forgot the tea you swine!"

A threefold voice growled at her gawk, and a dirty hot hand closed around the bare skin of her upper arm; yanking her up and off her warm furs whilst she still had her eyes glued shut with sleep. Such a bastard of a Nord he was to drag her as he did through prickly brush without even an explanation. The rough bark of an evergreen scratched against her lower back and the side of heavy plated armor pushed her front further into the tree.

Farkas breathed quietly down her body, shoving an oil-scented hand over her mouth just before she got the first tumble of curses out. Crunches of dead leaves and snapping twigs got her attention. The camp fire had burned out completely and even with her eyes open the difference between blindness was only the stars dimpling above the branches and leaves.

"Trolls...", a hot gush of breath hushed her over the side of her face. Damn all the Trolls to Oblivion.

With a small rubbing of her thumb and forefinger – flames sparked inside her palm. A few firebolts aimed in the proper direction would take it out. But his hand over her mouth ripped off quickly to ball up her burning hand.

She hissed like the beast she still was and he was still not until he pushed three fingers into the skin of her cheek.

There was three Trolls then, and suddenly the flames both in her palm and in her chest steamed cold at the very thought. More distance grunts – drawing closer – made her heart race. If there was anything she hated more than Trolls then it was being pushed further into the tree by Farkas' body, but it was either patience or dying by disembowelment...

A part of her had known she should have taken first watch, but the catty and fitful part of her got the best of the moment once more. She remained silent and unmoving, just as Farkas did, stewing in her heated shame as the terrifying sounds of herding Trolls sniffed heavily, wading through the thick density of trees. The breaking of branches and heavy shaking steps set the fine hairs down her neck and arms on end.

The hard metal on Farkas' gauntlet rubbed into the angle of her jaw as his palm slowly and most importantly, silently, spread out on the bark beside her head. Even in the unending darkness she knew he was forming a human shield around her; ever the dedicated companion – a shield-sibling, a friend...and unrequited-

"GwrahH!", went the guttural (spit and flesh clogged) throaty call of an Alpha Troll.

She shivered at the vibration of the roar – it rattled her bones and set the left side of her body cold. It was close, so much closer than she'd let herself realize, but a few hallow moments and the steady stomping and ruining of shrubbery signaled it was heading past them. Other tracks, just as noisy, followed away from them. Farkas slid against her; releasing stiff tension that barely make a sound despite his combative armor. His weight fell heavy on her bent hip; legs pushed deeper against her torso to accommodate his more imposing position.

Loud growls and calls became soft and muted, and eventually nothing was calling but the crickets and owl hoots.

As soon as the minute of patient straining wore off she growled heatedly against his face and shoved him back. She couldn't see him clamor back, but she could hear him, as well as the confused grunt that followed.

"How could you have allowed them to get that close? A watch is described as a duty to look, hear, and be ready – ready to awaken me should danger lurk close and when I act you fo-"

"Engaging them would have killed us both.", he drawled out gravely, the tone so indicative of his new usual that she could see his expression without the gift of sight. He was right though, despite the heated anger and self-loathing of being wrong and expressing it through a swift rebuttal, she kept up her act; glaring without use and huffing as she ignited a flame with her deft fingers.

With was snap she started the dead fire anew. Seeing his eyes honed on her even before she knew he had any right to know where her face was.

"They were hunting. I didn't hear them until they made a kill...", he spoke, never breaking eye contact.

Another thing she couldn't stand anymore was his infernal need to keep eye contact with her when ever she seemed quick to bark – and...it always took her off guard. Her lifted sneer lowered and her eyes softened regardless of the brimming adrenaline running through her roots. Trolls almost instilled the same reaction and she hated herself for being so terrified of them, as well as Farkas' reaction to shield her. He more than likely felt her fear, maybe smelled it and reacted as any loyal friend would...any shield-sibling...

A wash of uncomfortable silence passed like seasons during a hard freeze. These past three lunar phases with him only grew more tense, and with a deep sigh, as if that would release the tension, she shifted closer to the fire with a frown. "I need a tavern...with a warm bed and a bottomless belly of mead."

A shudder of breath sounded from Farkas, but she ignored it – it sounded like he was in agreement anyways. Perhaps a night of indulgence would restore their abrasive companionship. The more the moon fell and rose the more she found her attention drifting to their dwindling synchronicity.

"You take your rest Farkas. I'll keep watch till morn.", she said into the rekindled flames; pushing the redwood chips with a broken twig. Her sharp ears were better than his anyways. First watch should always be hers...though, she should have realized that long ago.

"For what it's worth I 'm sorry." When he wasn't speaking it was hard to imagine his deep voice being soft, at any point, but his apology was tender almost, and his eyes...

She didn't even dare look at them. They were probably half closed and intense in the heat of the fire, and she wasn't well in spirit enough to meet them.

"No, don't...A woman first I am before a warrior, I have moments of...", the corner of her mouth twitched unhappily, "...unnecessary anger."

It was a feeble apology, if anyone could ever call it such a thing, but thankfully it helped the resentment dwindle. When he didn't move or speak she gazed over at him wearily, catching a curious look devoid of any annoyance or negative emotions. He was always quick to cast away his enmity or depression when there was no need for it – the opposite of her own need to let the feelings fester.

She forced a smile, "Rest my friend. We'll make our path for Riften with the dawn."

He nodded, leaning back on the fallen log in a way that to her seemed plainly uncomfortable, but in a minutes time he started the shallow snores of a Nord in sleep. The fire shown off his plated armor and the blade of his sword at his side. Occasionally the flames grew to cast a light over his dirt covered cheeks and pronounced Nordic nose. She stared for longer than appropriate; admiring his features in an exotic way his race may study her. His pale skin, his dark hair...even the body hair that sometimes blended in with the soot and the grime from the journey – it all was a curiosity to her.

It never mattered how used to this land she became. The inhabitants never ceased to bore her, especially the traits they had that ran deeper than skin. The honor, the faith, the companionship drew her in to the Companions; drew her in to Farkas, his brother and the late Kodlak whom she thought of more each time the change took her...and even more when she'd awake naked when the beast slept.

One last time she allowed herself a studious look at the sleeping Nord, then she pinned her gaze on the fire; opening her palm flat. Her eyes twitch and the flood of magic slipped down her body through the core veins in her arms to the tips of her fingers.

A tiny blue dot of light sucked up heat from her palm, gathering like shards of glass into a bouncy orb until dissipating. She had the rest of the darkness to practice her spells...and they would take up her attention better than most other activities.

"...better than most, indeed."

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><p>Hope it was acceptable. I know this chapter is much shorter than what I normally post, but...it's a new fandom for me...so my apologies. Please review if you have the time. (Anon's are welcome). I hope I'm not the only one that found Farkas as intimidating as he was adorable.<p>

And as always, thanks for reading!


	2. Tome of Lust

The Bee and Bard was deserted. Stranglers passed through for the better portion of the first flagons.

Farkas' seemed content; a small smile on his face as he raised an arm for another topping with muted relish. The mead was warming her, but little else. Something about her felt clogged like a cork holding back a foam of brew. She rested her chin in a palm, finishing her dose and accepting another when the dressed up Argonian brimmed Farkas' flagon. Before the Argonian could take his leave her Shield-Brother had requested he leave the jug with him. At least that made her smiled ruefully. He gave her a glance that said he knew her better than she'd given credit.

Watching Farkas get his way through sheepish intimidation was always entertaining. No one would guess that he was such a loyal push over, especially not looking at him right now. No, no one would assumed he was actually one of the kindest and most honest warriors with the smudges of dirt in the curves of skin.

She lifted her nose breifly; finding more hidden layers of oil and grime in the dim candle light. He really was filthy. The ripe smell of sweat and dried blood (days old) stunk up past the sweet honey smell of the mead, but it didn't damper her mood anymore than the smell normally did.

The Fishery workers came in a few at a time by the moment her third flagon was drained. Farkas had drank enough for a Giant but only smirked offhandedly when she made her half-laggered gestures of the stern faced woman standing in the corner. The beautiful Nord woman glanced their way and she grinned into her now filled flagon, much thanks to the eager Farkas.

Piercing blue eyes, almost devoid of a soul pressed her into a challenge of eye contact – the Nord woman looked less offended than she was looking for a fight. The mead made the idea of a brawl seem exquisite and the sudden lift of the woman's full lips promised even more than a swell of painful blows. Who was she to deny the woman an outlet? - or herself for that matter.

"I believe I have an admirer Farkas...", she sung with the elation of the mead. Out the corner of her eyes (still keeping passionate eyes with the woman) she watched Farkas turn back in his seat – the chair moaning loudly at his weight – to look where she was gazing.

"She looks angry.", he noted, as if it was a revelation of some kind.

She snorted with more inebriation than she would have liked, but the woman's eyes narrowed to damning slits and like a followed jibe she kicked back her chair to stand. The rush to her head made her moan, but she did not wobble and she did not loose her focus as she made her way to the Nord woman.

She could feel the eyes hone on her back as she went nose to nose with the woman. Her full dusky pink lips smirked dangerously and she returned the emotion with fervor; puckering up her own thinner lips.

When the woman spoke it was like lightning, "Latched onto the bait didn't you, elf? Does it taste as good as that filthy mutt you're keeping for sore company?" That husky, almost threatening tone sparked her interest – and the insult conflicted her sudden desire to buck and brawl. For once she was unsure whether someone wanted to lay her or maim her – and for once she wasn't sure she wanted both.

She narrowed her black eyes in sharp curiosity as the Nord woman smirked higher. The heavy gaze of Farkas nailed into her spine like a pick axe, tying her tongue further against the roof of her mouth.

"What is thy matter? Did a Falmer slice out your tongue?", her liquid voice slid shallow, so quite her body had little choice but to lean forth an increment, "...such a delicate looking thing surly can speak without words, aye?"

Laying with a woman was nothing new, but the fists at her side curled more so than the warmth in her groin. If the Nord woman wanted to bed her after a good brawl then she would relent, if anything, to release the confounding tension from fighting along side the Nord behind her; the Nordic man whom every morn was turning to a test she'd rather fail than attempt success.

She finally swallowed the saliva that'd been brewing in her mouth; parting her lips slowly, "It is not the word that boils my blood like that of the fist.", she leaned into the woman, close enough to feel her body heat against her face. In the light of the hearth and the candles flickering along the wooden walls, she could makes out the soft, almost transparent, hairs standing sharp down the pale neck. "It is smacking skin that a _delicate_ thing like me desires above all."

As soon as her last word slipped she could feel the spark ignite between their bodies. Violence had a fluid way of working like the rapid white waters of a stream; curling close and slick until a bash against an unsuspecting rock stuck it's victim soft in the head. Their clothed chests smacked, each bucking the other back but neither succeeding and then in the next second the fists were high and the teeth bared like furious beasts.

"Frail boned elven-whore." - a hiss followed a smack to her jaw-line. Sharp pain like a slice of a kitchen knife trailed up to the back of her ear, but she locked in and slammed the edge of her hand against the woman's neck, taking her breath away. She wasn't above playing dirty. Her fights didn't consist solely on closed palms and boring swings panning on until exhaustion overtook her opponent – oh no, this Nord woman would be sore when she offered her the liaison once more.

She twisted to the right, taking another smack to the same portion of jaw, but delivered one of her own that connected with a whelp on the woman's cheek, close enough to her nose that she could see the blue eyes water.

Farkas stood when her lip split and dark blood slipped down her chin, wetting further down the curve of her neck. His chair clamored to the ground and she saw his hands run up his chest like he were reaching for his battleaxe, but they paused and lowed back down. He knew better than get in the way of her fights. Azura-only-knew how many he'd had to witness and wait through in their journeys together. She was even surprised he had a reaction to bare arms after so many, but she only grinned as his surprise wore off to a loose look. Soon his deep call fell with the other cheers and cajoles as they aimed to bloody the other.

Her battle grin became feral, relishing, and only more invigorated. She loved this more than she should. Getting into fights for the sake of fighting; of smacking the piss out of another and sometime getting the same done to her.

A heavy tang of blood filled the side of her mouth, and with a ghastly swallow she grinned again and planted a rough knuckled fist into the woman eye. She stumbled back (fatigued), giving a perfect opening for a smack under her jaw. The impact sent the woman back into a wall where – unabashed or ashamed – she pinned her there and smashed a bloodied kiss along the woman's own busted lip.

The full body didn't relax and didn't give in. The woman bit into her lip and sucked roughly. One bruising return of affection and the Nord bucked her off to wipe at the spit and blood with an exhausted look.

Chuckles and whines of abhorrence alike filled the tavern, but the commotion faded into renewed conversations as they both smirked; stuck in their own world of aches and arousal.

Eventually the woman picked herself off the wall; a hand still steady beside a sconce that echoed the intentions of the two of them with a heavy flickering flame. Perhaps she needed this, and – as the woman's crisp blue eyes darted to the stairs and back to her black eyes – she leveled her shoulders and stepped close, allowing her to lead the way.

She left Farkas where he stood, watching as she turned behind the woman up the stairs. His eyes were probably enough to express his surprise. There had been no times where she'd shown interest in women during their times together, not even Aela, but there would have been no reason to explain anything to him either. Instead she ignored his hot gaze and accepted that tonight was necessary. Tomorrow the off balance they'd been having would end and back would be the amusing journey she'd so loved.

Perhaps, if fate was kind, he would find similar companionship to prepare him for the journey back to Whiterun.

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><p>The beast may not have owned his soul any longer, but suddenly he wanted none of the mead growing warm in his tankard, didn't even much care for the beautiful tavern maid sweeping the entrance with a shy smile.<p>

His Shield-Sister was a smelter of temperaments.

He'd been witness to many a brawl before, but the unknown feelings in his gut never coincided with them like this...however – as he stared wide into his amber reflection of thick mead – he remembered that she didn't often touch lips with her opponent.

Never had he seen two women do such a thing. Though he had heard from Vilkas, just before he'd decided to join his Shield-Sister on her journey, that it was often times common for female elves to enjoy the company of other...women. The idea at the time had made him grin and chuckle under his breath. His brother pulled his leg as often as the others, and until now he'd assumed that's all it had been.

All though now he rested back in his uncomfortable chair, knowing exactly what kind of look he wore on his face. It couldn't be helped, but that didn't stop him from lowering her head down to further stare into the rich mead.

No one else had seemed very shocked by what had just happened. Not a single word bore any meaning to the fight or the intimate act between the two women. Was it honestly not the event he thought it as? A warmth settled in his chest, similar to what he knew common before a fire and...the same when they'd had to survive the ice mountains as bare as when they'd been birthed.

Hennigyn reminded him of the women that'd doted on him and Vilkas when they'd been young pups. Those women had been warriors too, but Nord and provocative with men...not pretty women...and not after brawling explicitly for the sake of the hunt. Sometimes he tried to remember who she was before they'd imparted the blood of Hircine in her veins. Was she any different than she was now? - he couldn't tell. What'd he'd seen of her before her change had been strictly to watch her progress; keep an eye on her honor and intentions in each kill. She was almost more a warrior than Aela – not in ferocity, but in meticulous slaughter. She really was Dragonborn; a hero that knew her goal and killed without guilt or second mind.

She also confused him more than his Shield-Siblings back at Jorrvaskr, and she hadn't even tried most of the time.

He let out a grunt, shifting his shoulders when that pretty tavern maid offered him another top of mead. The young lady got the message, her warm presence disappearing over to the bar amicably. Who knew when they'd be in a town again. He should have worked his dumb charm on the lady, but even he understood the feeling in his gut didn't bode well for laying with a women, at least not that woman. The image of Hennigyn; her dark hued skin slipping along the Nords pale body kept teasing him, and finding a way to ignore it was something he wasn't skilled at how to do.

If Vilkas were here he'd know...

Every so often he'd find himself going still, holding his tankard and straining to hear any discernible noise that could have proven what he assumed.

Eventually he let his head rest on a hand, then an arm, and...before he knew it she was sitting across from him with a mead bottles rim rubbing down her lower lip. He groaned and wiped the thick drool running down the corner of his mouth. He'd fallen asleep...and yet the tavern looked just as busy. Or maybe he dreamt it all? No – the swell of her lip proved it'd been real.

His eyes narrowed curiously as she smiled with cheeks full of mead. A glimmer of candle light exposed the bulge of her throat as she swallowed the mouthful. He had so many childish questions; some innocent, but most he knew better than to ask a woman. How did the mechanics of such an act even work. A fit of images struck him and he gave a haggard sigh, pushing his scruffy chin in his palm; defeated brutishly by the trappings of his own imagination.

"I had assumed you would have turned in or found...entertainment.", she appeared outwardly calm, but the purple, pattered bruise along her jaw was already deepening in hue and the start of a small cut peeked forth under her dirty hair. It wouldn't be long before she'd seek a shrine to cure herself of her wounds.

"I don't care for Bards...they give me a headache."

He watched her pale lips curl with wile intent. "I doubt my true meaning 'scaped your intuition, but I wonder...", she offered him a rare giggle, so rare it must have been the third time he'd heard it, "...we have much ground to cover in the morn. Why don't we enjoy a bed for once."

"Why don't we just spend our earnings on a Carriage and sleep the way there? I like that plan.", he grinned, doubting she could deny his profound logic.

Bones popped softly when she stood; stretching muscles he figured were even more sore than his. "You may be onto something my friend.", she returned his grin, showing through her body how tired she really was. He blew out the lantern on their table and swallowed the last mouthful of mead before rolling his own shoulder with a loud snap. She turned at the sound and he gave a small tilt of his mouth when her eyes narrowed.

"I'll order a bath when we wake as well. Oblivion can smell the both of us I'm sure.", she murmured – her heavy boots echoing on the wooden floors as she trailed to the back halls where their room lay. He grinned, following behind her just as loudly in his steps. She read his mind like an open book. A bath sounded better than it'd ever did and he wasn't exactly a man of top notch cleanliness...at least when compared to her.

Hennigyn paused outside their door, long enough for him to grumble in question. She turned and slapped her back on the front of the door; eyes lowered near his stomach. As if her black eyes were burning a hole in his gut he felt a heavy heat settle there. "Before we head in, I hope that you can forgive me for my brash actions earlier."

An apology?

"What was unacceptable about it?" He asked before even thinking about it. Yeah, maybe it was a bit...weird, but did she need to apologize? The light off a nearby torch aimed a dot of light in her otherwise pit-like eyes, making her look suddenly less like an elf and more like a...he couldn't name it, but it was unsettling.

"We haven't been exactly as acuate as we once were. The other day I had been pondering on how to rectify that...", she stared up at him, intense and dark, but he couldn't help wondering what the word acuate meant, "...and my actions tonight did nothing to cure the air between us. For this I apologize."

Sometimes her stare made him itchy, as if she expected him to come up with profound words like his brother, and like always she'd be disappointed for hoping such a thing.

"Thats...thats fine. We don't need to say sorry's."

"I have trouble at times believing a Nord can be so kind. Especially in such need of rest as you."

Her mouth turned down for a second and he felt his own do the same before she brushed it off with a smile before opening the door behind her, and turning inside. He followed, as always, taking a spot on the fur rug with a rough sigh. It felt good to finally lay down, even if it was not a bed like the one Hennigyn was rolling into.

Even with the candles still flickering he found the darkness behind his eyes sufficient enough. He could have gone to sleep, but her hot stare tickled on his face.

"What is it?", he grumbled, more tired than irritated.

"Perhaps it is time I take the floor for once." Her firm voice was soft now...as if she could lull him to her command by it alone.

"I'm fine."

Silence ebbed down on them again, pressing softly like a buzzing bee in his ears. The comfort not found in the floor was covered by the comfort of the warm air and safe cell-like size of the room. Maybe she couldn't abide the idea of his sleeping arrangements being comfortable, but a bed was a bed, even if before it had been a floor.

"I doubt, even a brutish man like you could enjoy the hard floor. Stop being stubborn and come up here. If my presence bothers you so then we shall switch places for the evening, but you and I both know I will not bend on the matter." That finality he'd heard so often remained steady in her demands.

He grunted, opening his eyes to find her leaning off the bed over him, finger tips tracing the floor between them and a smug expression gracing her pale lips. She always won.

The bed wasn't all that small, and it wouldn't have been the first they'd shared together, nor would the closeness be new...but he'd been wary ever since the infamous mountain situation. With an exaggerated sigh he sat up, pulled the straps and latches off his armor and shrugged out of them. She'd find herself regretting her demand if a steel plate nicked her skin in the night.

So in he crawled, heat already touching his face as she threw back the fur covers, scooting back for him with a smile. A smile that held nothing but care and concern. A smile he ignored as he felt his body sink into the bed with a groan.

"There. Now blow out that candle for us."

He gave her a suspicious glance at the change in her expression, but blew out the candle regardless and settled back down. The darkness was safe and comfortable, and despite his previous anxiety, everything in his body gradually relaxed...all except his pulse. She shifted in the blackness before him, bumping an elbow on his stomach, making his muscles tighten. He exhale low and steady, waiting for her to find her comfort and fall asleep.

The straw under their sheets rustle as she turned; rustled even more when she scooted, her thinly cloaked body wedging into the space between his own. This, also, was not new, but she'd been making his body uncomfortable lately, and the arm that ran up between them made him shiver like a man his age shouldn't. Those long skilled fingers played on his chest, nails pursing into the thin wool shirt he wore.

"You never used to mind this before.", she whispered into his chest. He hadn't realized her face was so close until her hot breath was seeping through the stitches of his shirt.

"You were never naked before.", he replied honestly.

"I'm not naked now."

More silence followed. He didn't know what to say. She was perceptive enough, she knew most likely, so he assumed there was no point to think too hard on what to say. Maybe she'd give up and go to sleep so he could follow after.

"Your reaction to it was not uncommon, many men can't help what their bod-"

"Go to sleep, Henni.", he grunted, figuring she'd shut up if he just pulled her closer. She stiffened and made a feminine sound not often heard from her lips and fisted his shirt, more breath flooding through the seams of his shirt. Having her close was always a blessing and a curse, even when he'd fought with her that first time. She'd shown no embarrassment to his nudity after his first change before her, and yet that first time he'd seen her naked...he made a fool of himself.

"Farkas...what I'm trying to say is that you were not wrong. I was. I reacted poorly to..."

"Please...", he sighed, already so uncomfortable with the tension settling in below his navel as she rubbed a thumb up and down a curve of muscle on his chest. "We're past apologies remember? Lets just go to sleep."

Even in the dark he knew she was pursing her lips, biting them, trying to do as he asked but struggling. She never enjoyed being told to leave things as they were, and sometimes he thought it was something only he'd been able to get away with.

"Alright.", he felt her sigh more than heard it as she burrowed like some small animal against him, "Good dreams, Farkas."

He nodded the same, even though she couldn't see it. Sleep, when it finally came, was a welcome escape from her warm, exotic frame. But even in sleep he couldn't truly escape her.

* * *

><p>This game owns my soul. So - thanks for reading something that sorta kinda has relation to owning and draining my mortal soul. I hope this chapter didn't seem too odd. I'm not sure if I love it or loath it at this point. In the game I married Farkas, but he's not as loving as I thought. I think he's less "puppy-happy" than people see him as. I always got the feeling he was a little slow, kind-hearted, but maybe a bit "blah" as well. Which I love, but I still can't seem to get him the way I want him yet. Any criticism on this would be smashing. Or praise if I'm doing things right.<p>

I'm neglecting other things for this, so if you like it let me know. Or I'll probably go work on things I should be. :)

As always thanks for reading!


	3. Tome of Renewal

Been awhile since I've updated (many of my stories) but here is the next chapter on Farkas and Hennigyn's journey. It's not too long, but I hope it's enough until the next one. :)

Don't own Bethesda or Farkas (sigh).

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><p>One bound by Hircine was given certain benefits: heightened sense of smell, awareness, mobility, and the like, but the lack of dreaming, that was what he missed the most. There were never nightmares or strange pictures that meant nothing and at the same time left an odd taste in his mouth; knowing he couldn't have thought such things without there being some reason to it all.<p>

When the familiar slip into wakefulness found him, Hennigyn was still asleep, pressed up like a small child in their father's safe embrace with drool staining wetly into his thin shift. Even in the dark he could still make her out easily enough. Those high almost hateful cheekbones looked softer when she was asleep, and the small scowl she wore while they traveled was curled up as if she was experiencing a better dream than the one he was already forgetting.

The uncomfortable feel was still there, but he couldn't remember any content...just sensation. The small eye-glass window on the far wall shined in low, dim moonlight and by the soft ruckus of noise down the way, it was still more late in the night than early in the morn.

He let out a long breath, wiggling his fingers on the other side of Henni's body. His arm was numb, but the prickly tickles in his veins distracted him, calmed him. Eventually he relaxed and took with inhaling the juniper-smell of her hair. She smelled like she looked, most of the time, a combination of something hard, dark, and alluring. Like the cleanly cut slab of a grave marker, she smelled...or maybe the fresh smell of the Eldergleam tree when him and Vilkas had whittled the dead branches into spears that one winter when they'd been just whelps.

Another heavy inhale of the dark smell and sleep came easy again. The dreams forgotten and her sleek heat lulling him back. She wiggled on his chest and buried herself closer, a small sound traveling with her exhale and just like that, he was asleep again.

* * *

><p>"Get up."<p>

Like a stubborn wench she sneered and rolled over at the command.

"Henni...get up. Something's up." A hand, unmistakable in it's size, feel and gentility as belonging to Farkas, shook her bare shoulder in an irritable manner. "Get up.", he said again, and that short, curt tone – normally fit for danger on the front – brought her up even before her eyes opened against the light of day.

"Whats wrong?", she said; awake and aware even as her eyes winced at the light. It was never good when he was demanding things of her. That sort of behavior he seemed to save for...

She perked up, the ends of her ears burning hot. The unmistakable sound of a female yelp cut off down below. In a matter of moments she had her gear on – Farkas helping her strap on the buckles with enough know how that she felt barely a hollow curve between her cotton shirt and the thick hide of her armor. When he held the door open for her she gave his arm a slap and rounded the corner immediatly. He followed close behind, his breath turning the hairs up on the back of her neck when she'd negated to realize he was so near. "The Taverns empty." He said in a right worry.

A females screams always conjured the worst behavior in Farkas, as if he were as willing to break down the gates of Oblivion as he was to croon over the victim like a mother hen. It was admirable she realized early on, but he never seemed to think right when a damsel was in distress, and even now without having to look at him she knew what expression he wore.

"Don't follow to close, Farkas.", she mused, seeing the cooking spit burning and the mead tankards full.

Again that small sound, hurried and oh so strained rang in the depths of her ears. There was a woman below their very feet, and as she stared down at the thick boards in the floor she couldn't remember where she'd noted the basement latch was. Farkas knew though. Call him slow, but that would have been the last thing you said when his blade shucked inside your bowls. She was the one to follow him as he slapped the basement latch open, delving down in the modest opening and she right behind him.

Everyone was down there.

Farkas cursed and stopped at the ends of the stone steps, forcing her to nudge by him to catch sight of the small crowd gathered. The thick scent of blood rung up her nostrils and she had to cover her nose before the smell turned her stomach inside out. But that wasn't the only smell, there was something sour and biting, and unmistakable as afterbirth. The realization struck in time with a choking wail of a new born babe.

Despite the smell and the hanging humidity of sweat and pain, she smiled behind her hand.

Through the surprised tavern goers, she could see the sweaty expression of a new mother and a new babe pressed up along an exposed breast. The glimpse of cradling arms and wide lips.

"What just happened?"

She turned her gaze up to the slack jawed Farkas, seeing his eyes shifted and gather moisture at the sight of the exhausted mother, laughing in relief. He'd never seemed so at awe and yet so...disgusted, or perhaps that was severe nerves creeping out of his pours?

"Life, happened.", she said, still smiling without means to cease. Existence only made sense with acts of light within the dark. The past cycles had been unforgiving, and even more so with the lacking comfort between her and her closest friend. But the sight of this joyous birth and wide, proud smiles turned everything warm once more. It was better than the heavy heat of flowing mead, and the feeling of a job well done. This was the reason they were fighting was it not? What did she matter, or Farkas, or even these people...? Together though, that was something.

It was life that mattered, and her brief moment of philosophy only intensified the smile on her face and the warmth in her chest.

"It's bloody.", she heard Farkas state, his voice low and near a whisper. After a second his arm raised and wrapped around her shoulders, not pulling her in, but merely holding her where she stood. His smile was small, almost uneasy as if this was the first time he'd seen such a thing. As a warrior, a male, a Nord, it was most likely this was the first he'd seen of birth. The look in his eyes was fetching, and before all sights found them she grasped the wrist over her shoulder and ushered him to the steps quietly.

She said nothing, content to gather their things and head out. She could have ridden this content sensation until sundown, but Farkas carried himself like a man having witnessed something more profound; more spiritual than base and happy.

"What was that thing on the floor?", he asked when they were a good ways from Riften.

"On the floor?", she repeated, unsure and almost uncaring of his question when the birds seemed to sing smoother and the sun shown brighter. Every dark feeling she'd brought into that Tavern was burned before they left, and she cared for not but the moment.

"You know, that soggy thing."

"Afterbirth.", she stated, feeling her blade bouncing at her hip as they treaded rougher ground to avoid the Stormcloaks escorting a captive. They spared them no attention, and thus they got none.

Her answer seemed to satisfy him, or disgust him, either way he seemed content with it and walked beside her in relative silence. It would be awhile until they reached Whiterun, but despite the distance ahead of her, she found his company less troublesome. The tension in her stomach lingerer less and the silence was more a comfort than not. Even the looks they gave each other were not warring back the unease left unspoken.

If it were not for the lingering tension, she would have called Farkas her true brother, and the weight lifted from her as they walked the worn path – the old trees hanging down shade and cooler breezes – could not have been compared to the victory of a Dragon or a city. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she relaxed within his presence and allowed her lips to curl in turn. And when she spared Farkas a glance, he too wore the same look, catching her gaze and smiling wide and warm.

"You look better. Not that you don't look good other days.", he started when she turned her smile to the road once more. "I almost forgot what you looked like all happy...and stuff. Missed it."

Wind brushed leaves in a rustle of sound while a distant gallop of a steed parried off from their presence. Farkas could be clumsy with words, but she could always count of them being uncut and honest. If he seemed to fumble, she knew he was trying for another s sake to say the right thing. She preferred him this way, the same way he was when they'd first stumbled upon a rutting animal, or that time he'd caught her trying to pee in privacy. The memories still embarrassed her, but the words he'd said had been so frank she couldn't stay shamed.

There were little words she could think to say at this moment. Some more perceptive would say Farkas was better with his tongue than even his brother. He said what he thought, and this wasn't the first time she felt envy for that gift. Times were gaining the majesty they had lost with each breath, each step and shared smile.

It was as if she could act as she once did with him; so close and comfortable...and happy.

* * *

><p>The next day she spoke as much as she had the past season, which wasn't a whole lot, but when she looked at him there was a small smile hidden behind the tense eyes and curved nose of her normal expression. By all rights elves smiled little he'd noticed, but when she did, it was like spring taking over a frozen field. All the hard, bitter edges of her face went soft and warm. The cruel line of her jaw became sweet, and the apples of her cheeks grew into her cheekbones, making her look like one of those wispy nymphs he'd seen in sketch books as a whelp.<p>

"Do we need these?"

He turned from the famous steaming pools of The Pale, seeing her with hands full of creepers. They looked wilted and dead. What did she use them for again?

It appeared that the expression on his face was enough for her, for they dropped with a pathetic noise to her feet, following a soft little grunt as her boots squished one bundle with agenda. Sometimes, Henni liked to think herself an alchemist, but even he knew better. She just liked to pile the dried ingredients around her little nook at Jorrvaskr – making it always smell like chaurus acid and snowberries.

"I have this sudden impulse to just stuff everything into my sack." Her statement was bitter, and even looking back to the pools he could see the billow of her breath out the side of his eye; shivering slightly.

Never could he figure out how other races could be chilled so easily. One glance at her and he figured she'd have just put more furs on if she'd been so cold, but then he remembered what kind of woman she was and a smirk crawled on his lips. Hennigyn was, if anything, a stubborn woman.

She'd freeze before covering up from head to toe.

For moments they stood there, feet in the slush of snow that'd melted against the heat of the pools. The wind howled like a wolf, and easily he knew what they both were thinking; knew what she was about to suggest like she'd already spoken it to him and by the Gods he nearly winced.

"How long do you garner we've gone without a bath?" The tone she used was light and soft, mingling with the shrill of the gusts off the Winterhold mountains.

There was still tension between them, but he found himself smiling when the normal fear of her nudity waned as she smiled wide again – it really had been too long since she fixed everything with one smile like that. Hennigyn cleared her throat, a nervous gesture he rarely heard unless there was unwanted male attention, and with the hostility for her kind, that rarely happened.

"Two weeks?" He guessed allowed, heaving a sigh at the pleasant cool breath in his lungs.

"I'd say that means we're do for one then, yes?"

Her uneasy look gave him a sheepish feeling as he shrugged his shoulder in answer. He could go a month or two if it wasn't for peoples complaints. Vilkas never understood why the layers of filth and grime never bothered him, and neither did he...but the prospect of a bath seemed even less tolerable when it came with her. Sleeping, nestled beside her last night, had been the perfect combination of intimate and innocent – enough to satiate his desire to be next to her, but not too raw to set himself ablaze.

The wind cried again and he dared another look in her eyes – the dark orbs were shining and glossy, probably brimming with extra moisture from the cruel winds.

"You do smell, you know that right?" the side of her thin lips curled upwards; a smirk.

There was still the unmistakable sight of her nerves; like a wolf with it's hair stood on end. The memory of her snarling at him – that one night he'd changed at the smell of her hunting – came to mind. Her fur had bristled at him then, not knowing at the time who he was and what his presence had meant.

He smiled, staring off when she started to unbuckle her armor. There was actually a chuckle in his throat before he realized whats he was doing.

"Henni..." he murmured; startled and...yes, nervous. She really was just going to strip down and bathe whether he wanted her to or not, wasn't she?

"I'm bathing Farkas," she stated rather bluntly, as if it was some defense, "You can do so as well if you feel the need," her black eyes found his as her grey skin was gradually exposed to the cold, "which you should...feel the need. I wouldn't be concerned about any prowlers either...Windhelm is too close for that."

He took a heavy inhale of the air before remembering how thin his sense of smell was again – it was a habit he couldn't help, even after all this time. Not having the beasts sense of smell was at time a regret...only at times though.

"Alright," he relented, undressing with his eyes on the melted snow as his peripherals saw her fold her armor on a bare rock lodged at the edge of the pool. Dimly, he heard her start talking, but his mind lay elsewhere...

"_If we scrub down hard enough they might not shun us when we pass through the Mixwater Mill."_

Water rippling and dispersing gave his heart a sudden flutter as the chill touched his bare chest; wind brushing at the dark hairs down his stomach. His nervousness traveled to his fingers as he fumbled with his belt buckle; her splashes not helping the least bit.

"_I'm not too keen on spending another night on this stony ground...Eastmarch does not bode well for my back...evil earth..."_

It would bother him later when his leathers stuck between his legs without his loincloth, but he couldn't take the cloth off even if it meant the flame of a Dragon burning his ass for it. He was hard already, and even though she wouldn't comment on it, or stare, he'd feel ashamed if it stuck out as he waded into the water, as if pointing to her for attention. Anything he could do to avoid another moment of his own body's betrayal towards her, he would.

"_Though, these pools make up for the pains...by Azura the water is nice."_

Once again she proved it hard to think of her as just his shield-sister; just his close friend. But, she always made it difficult, especially when she didn't mean to. Maybe sometimes she took her race for granted around him, thinking he'd not find her attractive, but that was silly. She was beautiful.

Beautiful and right she was – the water, almost too hot, felt good. An ache in his lower back loosened and his skin prickled. She wore a wry look, knowing she'd been right about the bathe and relishing in the contented look he no doubt wore. But she wouldn't gloat; keeping her words to herself was more common than not with her.

He watched her as she lay back against a submerged rock, shoulders exposed and eyes closed contentedly. To the untrained eye she looked relaxed, but he knew she had her dagger-like ears trained all around her; ready to pinpoint any noise that would alert them to trouble. Once it has been him with ears better trained than hers, now he relied on her keenness...

Moments passed by, long and quiet, and then suddenly...she let out a heavy moan and submerged herself deep under the bubbling water as quick as any slippery fish.

He shouldn't have been surprised she'd do something odd like that, but it gave him a second of surprise regardless, especially when his nerves were already running high. Even through the steam he could see her shaking filth from her hair; some of the darkness breaking the surface before she appeared with a heavy gasp, grinning wide. "Tilma can't even make a bath this wonderful."

There was no stopping his own wide smile, "You haven't been around long enough to make that judgment. She did a good one when me and Vilkas were but whelps."

Her cheeks were flushed, hair dripping and stuck to the side of her face like a sheen of wet fur and...even though his beast was long gone, a part of him grew warm at the sight of her looking so feral.

"You were young then, a mud bathe probably would have been glorious for you too," there was a little noise vibrating in her throat, much like a soft giggle...but she never did that...

Her eyes searched his for a heavy moment; shifting before they narrowed almost dangerously, "Must I dunk you? - or can you manage washing the blood out yourself?"

"Blood?" he stared lost, grabbing at his heavy hair in defense and frowned. It hadn't been that long since he'd cleansed it, had it? She was smirking, just like the days before she'd grown cold towards him and, as if her attitude fixed his own just as easy as a lever on a closed door, he held his post and grinned stubbornly. "It's not filthy enough to wash yet," he grumbled; all bolshy entrapment.

"Ah...it's a dunk then, is it?"

Her playful nature came out just as well as it had when she'd first joined their ranks. With a close eye he watched her wade towards him, mimicking a manner much like a wolf would stalk it's prey, "You had but to ask." - and then she was upon him; one hand tight on his should and the other in his hair, pressing with all her might to get him under. He gave little resistance, just enough to give her a mute challenge before falling under the heat of the water with a lungful of air.

Those little, dextrous fingers attacked his hair under the assault of water, scratching at his scalp and bumping his forehead to her bare stomach in the process. He nearly gasped out his breath of air, wrenching his eyes closed tight as the smooth expanse of her body slid against him. The contact almost scared him, and on instinct he grasped her thighs under the water; thumb pushing deep on her inner muscles.

Even under the water he could hear her mirthful sounds of success; unknowing or uncaring as to the battle warring in his gut or the slick grip he had on her. She probably wouldn't have resisted if he pulled her forth and ran his tongue up - no...she wouldn't resist him, but he'd feel wrong after wards.

Vilkas' serious words came to mind, that one time Farkas had said she looked cute after bashing shields with Ria. His brother had said he was going to marry her one day, as if he was talking about the unavoidable act of dying in the future...

Her fingers curled in his hair, pulling him up to greet a loud clipped chuckle as she let him go; his hands sliding from her thighs regrettably. The waves of water pushed her back, but her eyes met his when he rubbed the water away, feeling oddly clean, yet dirty at the same time.

"It nearly looks bright it's so clean. Can you believe it?" The innocence in her voice was enough to make him shift under the water, trying to bade down the uncontrollable hardness throbbing there like a pulsing red bit of iron in the forge.

"Yeah?" he muttered uneasily with a hand itching on his stomach, resisting the urge to grasp himself. She wouldn't know...and he could get rid of the tension.

When her back turned to pull out a rough-cut hunk of cream-colored soap he brushed his erection with his fingers, only aware of how stupid he was acting until she was pulling herself up on a slope to scrub at her body; breasts turned to the side and barely visible.

He swallowed – almost choking on it's thickness – as the slick of soap made her shine in the clouding steam. It felt wrong, but he would finish quickly if he started now...he'd be done and relieved by the time she was cleansed.

So, with his mind barely made up, he sunk near chin deep and stroked from base to tip while he watched her lather along her sides and back, dipping into the water to rinse. Steam billowed, obscuring most of her, but exposing enough that he didn't have to close his eyes this time.

She washed, lathering her hair and scrubbing at her cheeks and behind her ears, unaware of him slowly working himself under the water that had started to run slippery from the excess soap. Gods, it felt good too...almost better than that farm girl had, which seemed like forever ago right now.

"_Almost done. Arcadia made this for me. 'Scent-less' she said... heh' I didn't want you smelling like flowers again."_

He squeezed and stroked, keeping his face relaxed as the pleasure started to mount and rise like a overflowing cup of good mead. Tension in his gut gathered, his thighs started to twitch and he let his eyes roll back the briefest of moments before...

"Farkas."

Immediately he paused; hand still wrung tight around his flesh as he darted his eyes open to find her staring at him – the bar of soap in her outstretched hand, shaking before his face.

"It has no smell," she said with the barest look of a smile, "So no excuses."

Just how he swallowed before starting this, he swallowed again as he released himself; feeling the sourness starting to creep as he came down from nearly finding that level of clarity. He'd been so damned close, too. Forcing a smile, he took the soap and did as she told him, lathering his chest clumsily, unable to look her in the eye.

It was probably good, he reminded himself as the ache grew even worse; near painful. If he couldn't look at her now, without having finished to the sight of her bathing, then he couldn't even imagine how he'd have felt with his seed tainting the water they washed in...

"You know..." she trailed as he looked in her general direction, "I hadn't exactly thought about getting out of here, after getting in. Escaping the cold is quite different than crawling back into it...guess my mind didn't really expend much thought on that part."

Despite everything he smiled as she gave him a amusingly distraught look; eyes pointing to the cold winds above their heads like they were pesky crows coming to peck the last of the bread from their hands. Elves really did hate the cold...Henni especially.

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><p>As always, thank you for reading. I'll have more up next week, and more updates for my other stories will start popping up, so get ready! Review if you find the time of course (they are loved).<p> 


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